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SCP Foundation Tales: We Need To Talk About Fifty-Five

From Audio: Shorts #2: "About 55" & "Marianas Trench"

Duration: 16:09
We Need To Talk About Fifty-Five comes from the Antimemetics Division Hub of the SCP Foundation. From the story "There Is No Antimemetics Division", welcome back to the team.
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We Need To Talk About Fifty-Five comes from the Antimemetics Division Hub of the SCP Foundation. From the story "There Is No Antimemetics Division", welcome back to the team.
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warning the foundation databases Classified unauthorized access will Result entertainment. Within this archive, you'll find the procedures, descriptions and accounts of the most notorious anomalies we've encountered to date. Secure, contain, Protect. Our first story We Need to Talk about 55 was written by Quantum and narrated by Jesse Hall. Can I smoke this time? The receptionist narrows her eyes at Marion. No, she says, No, you can't smoke anywhere on site 200 just because his administration building doesn't mean we don't have lungs or labor law. Marion notices the exasperation on the young woman's face. I've asked you that before, haven't I? Twice in the last quarter, our receptionist says You must really need a smoke. She's genuinely puzzled at the repeated question, and she's doing a bad job of concealing her puzzlement. You think this is like Memento, don't you? Marianne offers charitably. You think I have no long term memory, and if I stay in one place too long, I forget why I'm there. Receptionist is only old enough to remember that film, I guess. Marion smiles sympathetically and shakes her head. It's nothing so simple. Minutes pass. She toys obsessively with her lighter. She's turning 50 this year and slowly graying well on her way out of petite towards little old lady in her bag. Her phone beeps because it's time for a pill, but she tells us her mind her later. There's a slight tremble in her fingers that's not age based infirmity. That's just ordinary nerves. She's nervous because she's here to meet No. Five and O fives are scary O fives. Never want to see you for a small thing. It's the end of the world or nothing. Finally, 40 minutes late, the door to the inner office opens four or five high ranked foundation er, spill out carrying laptops, briefcases. As a group, they had straight past reception and out to the cars, which were waiting. Marion recognizes a few of the faces the site 19 director they had recruited of Western Europe. None of them glance in her direction. Once they're gone, Oh, five. Dash eight's assistant pokes his head around the door. He's 20 something probably youthful, like a teenager stuffed into one of his dad's business suits. His hair cut is barely regulation. In one hand, he holds a tablet computer showing his bosses daily planner. It's packed man evidently does not sleep. Marion, you can come through now. The office door closes behind them with an unusually heavy mechanical clunk, as if the whole thing is part of a machine built into the office walls. Well, Marion takes the indicated share and sets or bag down the assistant turns and does some confusing additional things to the door, causing it to make several further strange noises. Oh, fives have nontrivial privacy and security requirements. The office is spacious but somehow contrives to be dark despite two big corners of window and broad daylight. Outside the windows are all bookshelves and dark wood paneling. Perfectly stylish but a style from the nineties, a little worn and not yet old enough to be fashionable again. As for the fellow behind the desk, well, I know if I've never looks like you. Imagine Marion takes a deep breath. So what's the topic? All I got was a meeting invitation. No agenda or subject. I mean, if I says jump, you jump. But looking at her right, she knows, is that the assistant, without saying anything or making any undue noise, says Sabal it down on the table produced a gun and aimed it at her head. Marion stops talking. She sits still in her chair for a little while, absorbing the change of pace when you hurry, raised to a humming birds and then start to flatten again. Okay, she hazards. She looks her lips and grips. The arm rests, otherwise, staying perfectly still, waiting for another prompt. The assistant's face is totally neutral now, like this is just how meetings go. Maybe it is for people up here. Who are you? Oh, five, dash? It asks her. Marion blinks. What? Oh God, yeah, let me rephrase. Oh, five, Dash it says Marianne Wheeler, 49 with loving husband and two boys and toe likes camping, hiking in ornithology, boring mother with perfect, airtight background of financials. As far back as we can examine, you've got full foundation credentials, which we've never issued, including access to a list of installations and rooms, which so these locations don't exist or torn down decades ago. At least one hasn't been built yet, yet you've got the front door key to it. That's before we get to your SCP access control lists, which I can only term as egregious. So you're a spy and your objectives are misaligned with ours. And Clay want to cut Z three loose on you, but I was able to bring him around. I talked him into a face to face. I thought there was a slim chance that if we lost you in a bomb proof room and asked politely, you'd have the good sense to spare yourself the rest. Marion had long since stopped listening. You dullard, she says. Now that you can finally speak, I'm your chief of any medics. We don't have an any moment. X Division, Clay says. Yes, you do. We do. Oh, five dash. It says we have a cosmetics division. Uh, tell a containment division, Fire services ops, a UPS be personnel D personnel and two dozen others. We don't have an anti medics division. Do we have an irony division? Marian asks. She hesitates. Hopefully, no. All right, we'll try this. Why do you think anti medics division would show up in the listing? Is just a cover story, Clay says. Oh, 5-8 Not taking his eyes off. Marion. It's a good one, but she's had it worked out in advance. Clay lose the peace, says the 05 grudgingly. Clay does so Marion relaxes fractionally. There s CPS with dangerous magnetic properties. She says there are contagious concepts which require containment just like any physical threats. Get inside your head and ride your mind to reach other minds. Right? Right. Oh, 5-8 says he can name a score of SCP is filling this description without even thinking. There are S C. P s with anti mimetic properties. Miriam goes on. There are ideas which cannot be spread. There are entities and phenomena which harvest and consume information, particularly information about themselves. You take a polaroid of one, it will never develop. You write a description down on a pen and paper and hand to someone. But you've written turns out to be here a graphics and nobody can understand them, not even you. You can look directly at one. It won't even be invisible. But you'll still perceive nothing. Their dreams you can't hold onto and secrets you can never share and lies and living conspiracies. It's a conceptual subculture of ideas, consuming other ideas and sometimes segments of reality. Sometimes people, which makes them the threat. That's all there is to it. really and to memes are dangerous and we don't understand them. Therefore, they're part of the problem. Hence my division. We can do all the sideways thinking that's needed to combat something which can literally eat your combat training. Oh, five decades stares back at her for a long moment. Clay fidgets, disliking and distrusting the story, but the 05 seems more open to the concept. Name one, he says. Name and anti mimetic. SCP SCP 055 Marian says promptly, there's no SCP 055 Clara Torts again. Yes, there is, Marion says. There isn't clay serves. SCP numbers aren't assigned sequentially. There are gaps. The number hasn't been assigned. It's not superstition we have enough to be concerned with without arbitrary numerological mysticism. We have SCP 666 and SCP 013 but there's no SCP 001 and there's no SCP 055 Clay for five decades says you should look at this. He turns his monitor, so click and see the foul that he's just retrieved. Clay bends over and reads it from top to bottom. Stunned, he scrolls back and reads it a second time. But falls dated from 2000 and 805 decades, says It's got all the right tags and signatures. It's key and coated. It's real. You've seen this before? Clay asks him. Never in my life, oh, five decades says, as far as I can remember anyway. On the other hand, if the content is accurate, both of us have probably seen it dozens of times. Clay glares Marion. This isn't possible. Marianne nearly spits, for Christ's sake, Clay, how long have you been working here? But Fitz SCP is this powerful? He begins. Yes, who wrote the file? Delphi finishes. And for that matter, how was the interview conducted? And who is pathological Hughes? And most importantly, how do you Miss Wheeler retain knowledge of any of this party's wrote the file. He's dead, Marion says. What happened to him? You don't want to know. There's a very long pause. While both 5-8 and his assistant react to this, in fact, they passed through a long, discreet sequence of reactions, indignation at the seeming rudeness confusion of Wheeler's in caution in front of sensor superiors, surprised at the magnitude of the claim, pure disbelief, comprehension and finally, horror. What Oh, 5-8 s carefully. What happened if we didn't know what happened to you as well? Marianne says. Lovely. That's for the rest of your questions. We manage that pharmaceutically. You know, we have class amnesty six. For people who very badly need to forget things. Of course you do. Who could forget about class amnesty? Ex? Well, an antenna. Medics. We have a different pill for people who need to remember things that would otherwise be impossible to remember. Gymnastics class W X, Y and Z Same Greek root as the word pneumonic. The M is silence in her bag. Her phone beeps again with a nod of approval from the 05 Marion reaches into her bag and turns her phone off, acknowledging the prompt. This time, instead of postponing it, she pulls a blister pack from another pocket and pops a pill out hexagonal and green. She holds it up in a satisfied to see a flicker of recognition on no five decades face. He's beginning to pull it back together, Marian says. These are class W ness sticks, the weakest suitable for continual use. Two pills per day go down to the site pharmacy and ask. The pharmacist will claim they don't stock any such thing there. Misremembering. Tell them to double check for five decades size. And now I think I get it. I see while we're having this conversation at all Yes, Marion says, popping a second pill out and handing it over to him is because you missed a dose. It's just beyond these, the same as me and everybody on my staff. So in a way, we can work. You've got to take a pill, and then you forgot all information that the pills are helping you retain. You forgot why you were taking them. Who gave them to you? Where to get more. You forgot about me and my entire department. And now I have to bring you up to speed. And if I take this? Oh, five decades says, I remember this whole conversation and we won't have to have it again. Hopefully not, Marion says. Clay pipes up. Should I be taking these? Sorry, kiddo. 5-8 says I need to know. Maybe were No. Five yourself. He swallows the pill. Marion swallows hers, too. So what is SCP 05505 decade? Asks SCP 055 is nothing, Marine says, not relaxing entirely. SCP 055 is as described in the Foul, a powerful information auto suppressor. As far as the experimentation has uncovered, it can only be defined in negative terms. We can only record what it isn't. We know it isn't safe for Euclid. We know it isn't round or square or green or silver. We know it isn't stupid, and we know it isn't alone. We do know is that it's weak. It's weak because it's the only annual Medicaid in our possession, which has a fiscal entry in the files. We have paper records of the thing. We have containment procedures. It's not safe, which means it's dangerous, but it's contained a five decade blinks. You have procedures where Marion points to her head. Then how many other anti means are there? How much more dangerous do they get? 10. That I know of, Marion says. Statistically, probably at least five more than I don't know of. This does not count the anti Semitic entities freely roaming the halls, not under containment. Yeah, here, At least two in this room with us right now. Don't look. I said, Don't look. It's pointless. Oh, five Death. She does an impressive job of controlling himself, keeping his attention focused on Marion. Clay doesn't fare so well and quickly sleeps the whole room, even checking behind his back, making an ass of himself. Essentially, he finds nothing. He looks baffled. There's an invisible monster which follows me around and likes to eat my memories, Mary explains patiently. SCP, 4987 Don't look it up. It's not there. I've learned to manage with it. It's like a demanding pet. I produce tasty memories on purpose so doesn't need something important, like my passwords or how to make coffee. And what's the other one? Clay asks. And then a nod from 05-8 million goes to her bag. In this time, she pulls out a gun and shoots clay twice in the heart, more gas than in pain. Clay collapses sharply against the bookcase behind him, pulling his head around to face Mary, and he manages, How did you No Marion stance aims more carefully and shoots him a third time, this time on the head. Oh, 5-8 Again, this impressive job of not reacting that's Clay's gun, he deadpans. He stole it from him. It's tricky to still a firearm this heavy from someone without them noticing, Marion explains, unloading it and carefully setting it down. But stealing a firearm and then stealing the memory of the theft is a little easier. Like I said, a pet. Some pets are dumb enough that they can be trained. Yes, oh, five decades says evenly. That much, I guessed. But why? You can't skip a dose of class W nest IQ. I've tried postponed a dose, but you can't forget unless someone actually prevents you from taking it. There's only one person who could get close enough to you to do that and that your assistance and more. When I asked him how long he'd been working here, he didn't answer a five decade, says, I thought, You're being rhetorical. He doesn't work here. Marion says. He's an anti mm. Since when do you have an assistant? You don't have an assistant print. Look at this office. It's got one desk. You've got a receptionist outside. She's the one who screens your calls and schedule your meetings. Where's Clay? Even sit. Where does he fit? Don't blame yourself. You're human and these things are attraction. Coronets. You need to think like a space alien to get around them. 5-8 Ask a question which any other workplace would be absurd. Is he dead? Maybe Marian says, I can put his corpse in our research. Q. And we'll see what we can see when we open them up. There's a duality here, though. They're like parallel universes sharing the same space. It's conceptual versus concrete, figurative versus physical. It's very unusual for things to cross over. I don't know what Clay was, but he had a human body, which instantly makes him weird even by our standards. As ever, the search for stalemate continues to let you know if we get any closer. Any side effects. These pills of five decade asks nausea and dramatically increased risk of pancreatic cancer, Marion says. And very bad dreams.
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